


we've been here before

by sprexico



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, probably trauma, teenage idiocy, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprexico/pseuds/sprexico
Summary: Dumbledore doesn’t look at him when he speaks, this time. He is looking past Remus, out the window towards the dark grounds. “It is an impossible thing, to love someone who has done something terrible,” he says, quietly. “I am sorry we have put you in this position, Remus. I am sorrier that there is nobody else we can ask. We will do whatever we can to make this easier for you.”It’s been twelve years and I still can’t breathe, Remus thinks, what makes you think there’s an easier?//Remus Lupin is back at Hogwarts for the first time since everything happened, and everything is a memory.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time, it took him quite by surprise when six Aurors kicked his door in at 3am and dragged him back to the Ministry in his pyjamas. It was cold, he remembers that. Most things about the night James and Lily died night are a blur, but he remembers the cold.

“Remus,” Dumbledore had said in a voice that was soft for all its sadness. “We need to know where Sirius is.”

He remembers, too, them restraining him after they told him. He remembers yelling, even if he doesn’t remember what. The absolute disbelief at all of it, any of it. James Potter could not be dead, and so Sirius could not have done this to him. To any of them. It simply could not have happened.

 Twelve years later, when word gets out that Sirius has escaped, he is waiting for them when they come.

 

//

 

Cornelius Fudge still regards him with caution, after all these years. It amuses Remus, in a wry way; that this man who is in charge of the entire Wizarding world is scared of him. He tries to think of it like this so it doesn’t turn his stomach.

 “We understand that you were… close,” Fudge pauses here, unsteady, “with Mister Black. You have to understand, Mister Lupin, nobody has ever broken out of Azkaban before.”

Remus doesn’t say anything.

 “We have, ah, limited options here, Mister Lupin. You understand. If we had anyone else to ask about where Black might go or what he might do, we would. But as I am sure you know – “ Fudge drops his gaze. Remus shifts in his seat, biting down on what he wants to say.

 “Remus,” Fudge says. “The child’s life is at stake.”

 He does lose control then, just a bit, and snaps his head up too quickly to be composed. Fudge recoils, almost invisibly, and Remus wants to spit on him.

 “I am afraid,” he says, measuring his breath and his tone. “That I can’t help you, Minister. Anything I could tell you wouldn’t be of any use, I’m sorry. Whatever Sirius is now, it’s not the man I knew. I haven’t any more idea of what he’s doing than you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have research to get back to.”

 “Actually,” Fudge says, “we wanted to talk to you about that, too.”

 

//

 

_September 1 st, 1971_

The train is loud and crowded. Remus has never seen so many children in one place. They pour into the train like a river, laughing and jostling him down the carriage as they pair off and find familiar faces. The crowd thins a little towards the back of the train and Remus finds himself sitting facing two bright faces regarding him with amusement.

 “Hullo,” says one of them, and Remus blinks.

 “Hi,” he says.

 “First time?” says the other, green eyes regarding him coolly from behind too-big glasses.

 “Yeah,” Remus says, and he could die with relief when they both beam at him.

 “Same,” says the first one, the beautiful lanky one with gentle brown curls falling a little too low behind his ears. “Sirius,” he continues, extending a hand, “and this is James.”

 “Remus,” says Remus, thinking: _friends_.

 

//

 

_September 1 st, 1993_

The train is loud and crowded, and Remus hesitates a moment before stepping on. He knows that this is important, and Dumbledore had asked him personally, and _anything_ beat more Ministry research in Romania, but he hadn’t really considered until now how much some things never change.

 It is the first time since the first time that he has done this without James and Sirius.

 He’s supposed to sit in the staff carriage, he knows, but he’s not really ready for that yet (and lord knows he’s not ready to deal with Severus). He finds himself heading against the crowds of children down to the familiar compartment at the back of the train.

 It’s warm, and he hasn’t been sleeping well, and the gentle sounds of steam and bubbling laughter make him drowsy. Voices flow around him, and he shuts his eyes against memories he didn’t know he still had. James’s voice, talking about a bus; a girl – Lily? He can’t remember her voice, he’s sure he could only a week ago, was that her? He closes his eyes tighter, overwhelmed with grief, and cold, and –

Grief isn’t cold. Grief is a hot, burning knife twisting sharp and hard under your ribs, Remus knows. This is something else.

 He snaps his eyes open and for a second before he sees the Dementor he’s staring at James.

  _Not James,_ his brain clicks before his eyes do. _Harry._

//

 

He doesn’t stay at the feast. He goes to Dumbledore’s office after the formalities are done, and he waits. It is late before Dumbledore comes, but he doesn’t seem surprised to see Remus there.

 “Come up, Remus,” he says, and Remus follows him up the staircase behind the gargoyle. It feels strange in a way he can’t explain. He’s never come up these stairs when he’s not been in trouble before.

 Dumbledore doesn’t speak when they’ve sat down. He looks at Remus in that way that is almost looking through him.

 “You didn’t say,” Remus says, “that there would be Dementors.”

 Dumbledore nods, and it’s a heavy nod. “Ministry regulations. I have as much distaste for them as you do, but Fudge is insistent.”

 “I can’t _do_ this, Albus,” Remus says. “Not like this. Not with them everywhere. I can’t _breathe_ for memories, and Dementors? I can’t – “

 Dumbledore doesn’t look at him when he speaks, this time. He is looking past Remus, out the window towards the dark grounds. “It is an impossible thing, to love someone who has done something terrible,” he says, quietly. “I am sorry we have put you in this position, Remus. I am sorrier that there is nobody else we can ask. We will do whatever we can to make this easier for you.”

  _It’s been twelve years and I still can’t breathe,_ Remus thinks, _what makes you think there’s an easier?_

Out loud, he thanks Dumbledore quietly. He doesn’t ask about leaving again.

 

//

 

_March, 1973_

Remus is frantic, packing and scribbling a note to his mother, and trying and failing not to spill ink on himself. He’d tried, he’d had a good run, he really had, but he knew this was going to happen eventually and –

 “Remus?”

  _Shit,_ he thinks, _bollocky shit shitting –_

“Remus,” James says, gently. “What are you _doing_?”

 Remus stops, a handful of clothes in one hand and his cauldron in the other. “What am I – what am I doing?”

 He can hear the smile in James’s voice. “Yes, you daft fig, because you look like you’re packing. And you can’t be going anywhere, so. Remus shortage-of-middle-names Lupin, what are you doing?”

 Remus turns to him, then, and he’s not crying even if he thinks he can feel his jaw shaking. “I know you know,” he says, and James’s face settles into a harder line. “I know you know, and if you know, I can’t _stay_ here.”

 James’s face doesn’t lose its newfound hardness, but he furrows his brow a little. “Hold on,” he says. “Stop packing. I’m going to get Sirius and Peter.”

 He’s barely turned towards the door when it tumbles open and the aforementioned Sirius and Peter fall in, in a chorus of assertions that they simply couldn’t _possibly_ be eavesdropping and the _doors_ in this place were just _so_ hard to _open_. Remus is still holding his cauldron, heart in his mouth, until Sirius very gently takes it from him and sets it on the floor. Remus feels like he’s unfrozen, and he doesn’t look up when he asks them.

 “Do you all know?”

 “We don’t _know_ anything, mate,” Sirius says, arranging his face into a serious expression. “But if there’s something you want to tell us – “

 Remus thinks for a moment that he might throw up. He can feel their eyes on him. He contemplates running, but he knows he’s doomed anyway.

 “I’m a werewolf,” he whispers.

 “I _knew it_!” Sirius crows, and he slaps James on the back. “You owe me five Galleons, Potter, I knew it! I, Sirius Black, am the greatest mind of our generation, and you should all bow before the statue of my likeness I’m going to have erected in the grounds.”

 Remus thinks he might be having a stroke.

 James claps both hands on his shoulders. “Mate,” he says, “if it took us this long to work it out, you’ve got a lot longer before the rest of the student body catches up. You’re not going anywhere.”

 Remus is definitely, definitely having a stroke. “But you don’t think I’m – I mean, I’m a werewolf, I’m not – “

 Sirius laughs. “Remus Patricia Lupin, until the day you take a bite out of any of us, you’re not anything but our friend. We’re not going to tell anyone. C’mon, we’ve got Charms homework.”

 

//

 

_October 1 st, 1993_

He still not sleeping.

 It hasn’t been like this in a long time. At first, he would wake up every night, grabbing blindly for Sirius in the dark. Calling for James. Twelve years is no short time, though, and he has slept mostly soundly, now, for the better part of a decade.

 It’s the castle, he tells himself, and gets on with the job.

 He likes the work. He’d always liked the idea of being a professor, and what better job than Defence Against the Dark Arts? He’d been good at it in school, he reasoned. He doesn’t like to think about how much they’ve all lived it.

 He gets an owl from Molly Weasley, and that brightens things considerably. He assumes one of her children has made mention of that thing with the boggart.

 He only hopes he has the year left before anyone finds out, and parents run him off the school grounds with pitchforks.

 He find it hardest to give detentions. He of all people should understand that sometimes kids are just kids.

 

//

 

_December, 1974_

“This,” James hisses, a little louder than under his breath, “is why you don’t plan these things!”

 Dumbledore blinks over the top of his glasses at them, and Remus thinks he sees almost a glint of a smile. James is right, he shouldn’t plan these things. His job is to tweak the plans put into place by greater and more devious minds, not land them all in Dumbledore’s office in the middle of the night. He sneaks a glance down the line, to see how much trouble he’s going to be in later.

 James is beet red, hair more on end than normal. He’s got a bruise coming on his jaw, Remus thinks he must have clocked him with an elbow clambering back under the cloak in such a hurry. Peter looks like he might cry, but this isn’t new or different for tiny myopic Peter; Remus figures he’s safe there. He doesn’t look at Sirius, but he can feel him shaking a little next to him.

 “It seems to me,” Dumbledore says. “That this entire caper was a tremendous error in judgement on all parts. However, sometimes we must be judged – and therefore punished – by our errors. Mister Carrow has demanded to see Mister Black hanged; I do not think this will be necessary, but the four of you will all be seeing Professor McGonagall for detention tomorrow evening. I do not doubt she will have something for you to do.”

 Sirius is making an odd noise, and Remus doesn’t dare look at him because for a fleeting second it seems like he might be crying. It’s not until they’re down the stairs and outside Dumbledore’s office proper that Remus dares to look, and even then it’s only because Sirius has fallen to the floor, shaking with silent laughter.

 “Remus,” he gasps, “Remus that was brilliant, that was the most brilliant thing you’ve ever done in your life up until that bit at the end there. I doubt Carrow will ever forgive us but Merlin’s beard, that was the best thing we’ve done in a long and illustrious career.”

 James cracks a smile and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Remus, old chap, I have to admit it had its moments. Getting caught in the Slytherin common room wasn’t part of the plan, but Carrow? What did you _do_ to him, Sirius, he looked like he might _die_!”

 Sirius beams, and Remus thinks he sees a slight flush at the top of his cheeks.

 “Well,” Sirius says, “he didn’t have his wand on him, on account of good ol’ Peter. So when he woke up, well, he saw me straight away, so I was stymied, but he couldn’t _hex_ me. So he grabbed me by the front of the robes. Got good and close, ready to thump me right in my beautiful face. And I don’t know about _you_ , James, but generally when someone gets within six inches of my mouth it’s because they want to kiss me.”

 James gapes, and Peter giggles behind his hand. Remus can feel all the blood he has leave his body through his feet.

 “You kissed him?”

 “Yup,” Sirius is practically glowing. “And I am a _good_ kisser. He’ll tell you, I’m sure. Or he would, if he didn’t want me hung drawn and quartered for it. Shame he couldn’t afford me even with Carrow riches.”

  _Oh,_ Remus thinks, and then; _oh, no._

//

 

It isn’t like it’s the first time he’s thought such a thing could be possible. He knows, even at fifteen (especially at fifteen) what it’s like to have your stomach flip and burn and he knows that even _Peter_ has fleeting girlfriends. He knows he doesn’t want that.

 He’s always told himself that it’s about control. You can’t feel like that about anyone because nobody dates a werewolf on purpose. You don’t think about it; you keep it in the box in your chest where the things you can’t touch go. You don’t think about what they’d do to you if they found out.

 Remus is good at this, for the most part. Mostly. Usually, even, but god, why do James and Sirius have so little regard for clothing? It’s the dead of winter, and when he walks into the dormitory Sirius is still sprawled dramatically on the bed without a shirt on.

 “Remus,” he says, flinging an arm over his face. “I’m dying.”

 “Of hypothermia, maybe,” Remus says in what he hopes is a collected voice as he puts his things down. “You know there’s a pretty easy solution for that.”

 “I cannot possibly begin to put a shirt on,” Sirius says. “I have been _revenged upon_.”

 “Oh?” Remus can’t look at him or he’s fairly sure he’ll stop breathing. God. He has a fleeting moment of understanding why James is always draping himself miserably over furniture about Evans. All he wants to do is melt into a small puddle on the floor. Puddles aren’t bothered by such trivial matters as bellybuttons, surely. Puddles don’t think about smooth skin and rough lips and puddles don’t have to try and pay attention while Sirius Black is talking and shirtless and –

 “Remus, are you listening? My life is _over._ I am simply _ruined_. I shall have to go shirtless forever and all the girls of the castle will be blinded by my beauty, and then I’ll have to answer to my darling McGonagall as to why I’ve blinded her so, and my life will simply never be the same.”

 “What happened?” Remus says.

 “ _Carrow_ ,” Sirius says, and sits up so Remus can see his back. It’s covered in angry looking welts and blisters, some of which are open and bleeding.

 “Real talent for misery, that one,” Sirius continues, shifting a bit so Remus can get a better look. “Put something down the back of my robes at lunch. Dunno what it was but it hurts like I’ve been whipped with the fires of hell.”

 “It looks it, too,” Remus says. “I don’t think it’s your beauty those poor girls will be blinded by.”

 “Remus, I am in my deepest despairs as a tragic hero. It’s very rude of you to not tell me I’m pretty.” Sirius pouts a little and Remus honestly begins to wonder if Sirius Black was sent by some darker being to torture him specifically.

 “I’ve got some… it’s a salve, I guess? Madame Pomfrey made it for me last time, I… sometimes I come back with scratches and things. This fades them quicker, and I think it’s got some kind of numbing stuff in it, I’ll… here. Turn around properly so I can reach.”

 Sirius is quiet as he shifts over, and Remus grabs the jar out of his bedside table.

 “Does it hurt?” Sirius asks.

 “This stuff? No. Smells a bit… earthy, but it shouldn’t sting, or – ”

 “No,” Sirius interrupts him. “I mean when you… change. Does it hurt?”

 He doesn’t know how to talk about this. People don’t ask, even his parents have never asked about it and he’s never volunteered. He doesn’t know how to have words for something like this.

 “Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Every time.”

 There’s a sharp intake of breath as he touches the balm to Sirius’s back.

 “Sorry,” he says. “I’m not as gentle as Madame Pomfrey.”

 “No, it’s – ”

 “Sorry.”

 “It’s fine.” Sirius says. “Feels alright now.” He shifts a little under Remus’s hand, then asks, “What do you mean, scratches?”

 Remus is glad Sirius is turned away from him. “I don’t always know. It’s hard to… I don’t remember very well, afterwards. I think they’re mostly from me, though. Maybe tree roots and things, too, I’m not sure.”

 “From _you_?”

 “I don’t… I don’t know. I can’t really explain this, Sirius, I’m – ”

 “No, I’m sorry,” Sirius turns around, then, sharply. Remus doesn’t want to look at his face. “I shouldn’t have asked. I just – I mean, we – ”

 The door to the dorm swings open and James saunters in as casually as he can for someone dripping lake water all over the floor.

 “Blimey, Sirius, he got you _good_ and proper,” he says, and Sirius turns back around. Remus isn’t sure he’s still breathing as he moves on to the next blister, the first one looking less angry already.

 

//

 

_Halloween, 1993_

Remus dreams.

 He’s running through a forest. He’s not after anything, he’s just running. It’s the tail end of summer and he can feel the sunlight on his face as he runs through the bright patches. He dreams wind and warmth and smells that feel sweet and familiar; dusty fur and expensive soap that smells like sunlight and cinnamon.

  _Sirius_.

Someone’s shaking him awake, and he can hear footsteps and commotion outside his door. He thinks it’s an Auror for a moment, until McGonagall says “Remus, come _on_ ,” and he realises where he is.

 “What’s going on?” he says, scrabbling towards the end of the bed to grab a set of robes.

 “Black,” she says. “Dumbledore wants you in his office.”

 Remus’s heart pitches itself into his shoes. “Is he –  did they – ”

 “A student saw him in the castle. He attacked the Fat Lady. Severus thinks you let him in.”

 He doesn’t really know what to do with that information. “I didn’t.” he says, feeling for all the world like a defiant fifteen year old about to get a detention.

 “We know,” McGonagall says. “Dumbledore’s office. He’ll meet you there.”

 

//

 

He’s seen Severus angry before, of course. He feels like he’s spent a good portion of his life making Severus Snape angry. Later, when he’s not so furiously overwhelmed, he’ll feel bad about that, but right now his teeth are on edge and he’s struggling to remain composed.

 “ – questioned the legitimacy of letting a _werewolf_ teach at Hogwarts from the very beginning, Headmaster, let alone a… a…” Little flecks of spit are landing on Dumbledore’s desk as Severus struggles for words.

 “A _what_ , Severus.” Remus says in the most measured tone he can muster.

 “I’ve…. You must have heard the rumours, Headmaster! About Lupin and Black, and – ”

 “I’ve heard far worse rumours about you, Severus,” Remus says, and it’s less measured this time. “Why don’t you roll up your sleeve and show me if they’re true.”

 Snape starts to cross the room towards him then, and Remus clenches a fist inside his sleeve. _I will absolutely not come to physical blows with Severus Snape,_ he thinks, _as much as it would feel satisfying to thump him in his greasy face._

“Severus,” Dumbledore says, sharply. “That is _enough_.”

 Snape stops in his tracks. “Headmaster, he let Black into the castle. We have a thousand students in danger because you let a… you let someone like _him_ teach here _._ I demand he be fired.”

 Dumbledore gives Snape a measured look. “I let you teach here, Severus, despite many who think I shouldn’t. Mister Lupin has given me no reason to believe he has any current connections to Sirius Black. I will hear absolutely no more on the subject. Do I make myself clear?”

 “But _Headmaster,_ they were – “

 “Do I make myself _clear_ , Severus?”

 Snape’s face contorts around whatever retort he was going to give. “Crystal, Headmaster.” he spits, and turns on his heel and storms out of the office.

 Dumbledore is quiet. Remus feels like he’s in trouble again.

 “I didn’t let him in,” he says, quietly.

 “I know, Remus,” Dumbledore says, and sighs heavily. “I had hoped that Severus could be more… rational.”

 Remus barks out a laugh. “In my experience, Headmaster, hatred doesn’t beget rationality.”

 Dumbledore gives him a wry smile as he stands and gestures towards the door. “Come. There are a thousand giggling sleeping bags demanding our attention.”

 

//

 

_April, 1975_

 

“You’ve _what_.”

 Sirius’s smile falls a little at the edges. “We thought you’d be pleased, Moony! We didn’t want you to have to do it alone.”

 “Sirius, I’m horrified. I’m beyond horrified! It’s _illegal_ , what you’re doing, what if you get caught?  What if you get expelled, your parents will – ”

 “My parents don’t care what I do, Remus, they wouldn’t care if I dropped dead in their dining room. And we’re not going to get caught, not any more than you are. We’ve worked it all out, see, Peter’s going to go through and press the knot in the tree, and then James and I are – ”

 “Going to get yourselves killed!” Remus yells, and Sirius visibly crumples. “It’s not _safe,_ Sirius, I’m not… I’m not safe, okay? What if I _bite_ one of you! What happens then! I’m not just going down there to curl up and have a little nap, alright, I could… Sirius, I don’t want any of you near me when I’m… ” He’s gasping for breath now, and to his absolute horror he thinks he might be crying. He can’t look at them. He can’t remember ever being this paralysed with fear.

 “Moony,” Sirius says, gently. “Remus, hey. _Hey_.”

 He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t think he could, even if he had anything to say.

 “Listen,” James says. “We’ve thought this through, mate. Sirius and I are big enough to tackle you, and to keep you away from Peter. We’ll be fine, and you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

 “Plus,” says Peter. “We already did all the hard work.”

 “You don’t understand,” he tries again, but Sirius properly clamps a hand over his mouth.

 “Moony,” he says. “We have thought this through. We have researched extensively. I have a dog in my brain now. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

 “But – ”

 “No buts. Plus, if we die, at least only James dies a virgin.”

 “Hey!” James exclaims.

 “We all know you’re saving yourself for your new _giiiiiiirlfriend_ Evans!”

 “Sirius,” Remus pleads, squirming free of Sirius’s hand. “Please. I don’t want… I can’t be responsible for doing this to any of you. I don’t… you don’t want this. You don’t want to _do_ this.”

 Sirius puts his hands on Remus’s shoulders instead. “We thought about the risks, you know. We decided it was worth it, and we’re coming with you.”

 Remus sighs, and deflates a little. “Am I going to win this?”

 “No.”

 “You know you’ve all got a deathwish, right?”

 “Probably, but did you see what Peter ate for breakfast? If that combination didn’t kill him I doubt anything can.” Sirius laughs, sure he’s won this one. Remus still cannot breathe.

 

//

 

If anything, he’s grateful they sprung this on him only a day out from the full moon. He hasn’t slept, and he doesn’t know how he’d handle this gripping terror for any longer. Slughorn sent him out of potions that afternoon because he dropped and shattered approximately six things in the space of ten minutes.

 He bumps into Lily on his way back to the common room. He’s not sure what he’s going back there to do. Die, probably, he figures.

 “Remus,” she says, and smiles at him amusedly. “Are you alright? You look a bit green.”

 “Fine!” he squeaks, “Absolutely fine! Just going to, uh. Just going!”

 “Alright,” she says. “Where are we going? Because you’re going in the wrong direction to be going anywhere but the dungeons and I don’t know there’s much down there for you.”

 “Oh, god, I must have gotten turned around. I was trying to get back to the common room, I don’t – ”

 “Remus,” Lily says. “What’s the matter?”

  _I’m a werewolf and I’m probably going to murder three people tonight including James Potter who for some reason you were stupid enough to agree to date,_ Remus thinks, but to his complete surprise what comes out of his mouth is “I think I’m in love with Sirius Black.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes.”

 “Oh dear.”

 “Yes.”

 “That’s quite the predicament,” Lily says, still smiling. “How about we go down to the lake?”

 “I realise it’s a horrible situation, Lily, but I don’t think we quite need to drown ourselves just yet.” Remus almost chokes on his own hysterical giggles.

 She thumps him in the arm. “Come. Sit. Talk. Have some chocolate or something. Otherwise I’m concerned you might actually explode and I shudder to think what James and Sirius would get up to without your influence keeping them grounded.”

 “You have no idea,” he says, and lets her lead the way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Remus doesn’t sleep, but this isn’t unusual for the night before. His limbs feel wrong, somehow. He’s never been able to explain the feeling. It’s almost an ache, but it’s not coming from anywhere. It just is.

 _You’re going to kill them all,_ he thinks, and then, _oh god, I’m going to throw up._

He does, but not much, and he guesses he has the crippling dread in the pit of his stomach that stopped him from eating dinner to thank for that. It’s still unpleasant, though, and he lies down on the cool floor for a moment while his head stops spinning.

“Remus?” a pair of socks asks him.

“Yeah,” he says, and the pair of socks becomes a pair of legs and then becomes a face lying down on the tile in front of him.

“It’s freezing down here,” says the face, and it takes him a moment to focus on the deep, warm eyes staring at him. Sirius. Of course. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he says, and then thinks better of it. “No. I mean, obviously.”

Sirius huffs a little. His breath is sweet, somehow; it’s 4am and Remus isn’t sure Sirius has ever really even heard of a toothbrush, that shouldn’t be possible. “Have you been in Peter’s chocolate frog stash again?”

Sirius smirks. Face still pressed against the floor, it looks ridiculous. “I might have. But he owes me, he spilled an entire pot of ink down my robes today. Evans helped me but it’s still beyond saving.”

“It’s four in the morning, how are you eating chocolate?”

“Solves everything, you know.” Sirius might be trying to look sage, Remus can’t tell with his face half-smushed into the floor like it is. “You should try it. Much better than sleeping on bathroom floors.”

“Sirius, I – “

“I know,” Sirius says. “But we’ve thought this through. We really have. We’ve been working on this for months. James and I are big enough to pin you, if nothing else, and if we’re really in trouble Peter can go for help.”

“Go to whom for help? You can’t tell anyone, Sirius, they’ll lock you up.”

Sirius laughs, short and bubbling, and Remus’s stomach twists again in a very different way.

“They don’t send people to Azkaban for things like this, Remus. I assure you, if they ever lock me up – ”

“Sirius.”

“ _Remus_.”

Remus sighs, and Sirius wrinkles his nose. “You smell like vomit, moon boy.”

“You’re going to be the death of me. Or I’m going to be the death of you, which frankly concerns me more.”

“Moonsome, you’re lying on the bathroom floor. You’re not going to be the death of anyone except maybe yourself when you finally succumb to hypothermia.” Sirius scrambles to his feet with more lanky grace than anyone deserves to have. Remus swallows hard. “Are you coming back to bed or are you going to stay here to freeze and vomit some more?”

“Help me up,” Remus says, and Sirius takes his hand.

//

He doesn’t go to classes. This isn’t unusual for him on the full moon, either; and Madame Pomfrey doesn’t bat an eyelid when he shows up. He spends the day fitfully dozing, dreaming vaguely of snippets of teeth and hands and a smell he can’t place. Someone brings him homework at some point; he thinks it might have been Lily. He doesn’t know if she’s going to tolerate James long enough to have this conversation with her.

Madame Pomfrey wakes him just before sunset. Everyone’s at dinner, and she leads him to the tree. He vaguely wishes the tree would rebel and just thump him into the dust, but she presses the knot, as usual, and he’s under and locked away. Safety, or something like it.

He waits.

The change still takes him by surprise. He feels like he could or should be used to it now, but time is endless when your bones and muscles and sinew are stretching and rearranging. He can’t count how many times he’s done this now, and he still screams every time.

Remus feels his mind take a backseat to everything else, and then he remembers nothing.

//

_Noise. Breath._

_Something coming._

The dog is bigger than a dog has any right to be. It pads, quietly panting, down the small tunnel under the tree. Sniffing, it raises its head to him.

_Mouth, teeth._

Behind the dog, the stag drops its head.

_Warning. Warning, teeth, mouth._

The wolf snarls, just a little too much teeth. The stag turns slightly towards the dog.

The dog takes a step forward, head lowered.

_Smell. Warm. Teeth, mouth, warm. Smell._

The dog and the wolf are almost touching now. The stag doesn’t move. Nobody moves.

_Warm. Teeth, warm._

The wolf moves first.

//

The light is more piercing than warm through his eyelids. Remus feels like he’s been hit by a dozen bludgers, and a whole team of beaters sent to stop them. He can’t open his eyes properly yet. His hair hurts. This never gets better.

“Remus?”

Someone’s talking. Maybe to him, he doesn’t know. Is he Remus? Is that his name?

“Remus, hey.”

He’s Remus, that’s definitely him. This person probably wants an answer. He should answer.

“Hhhh,”he says.

It’ll have to do.

Whomever is talking to him seems to think it’s acceptable, because they keep talking. He can’t hear the words, really, a low-level babble. He needs a minute before he can respond. He also needs water. He’s so thirsty he can feel it in his bones.

He needs to open his eyes for both of these things to happen.

The sun is barely up, but it’s still too much. It takes two goes to get his eyes fully open, blinking himself into real consciousness. The person is still talking. He shakes his head, slowly, trying to pinpoint the sound. It’s coming from next to him. He can’t lift his head yet, but he turns it to where he thinks the talking person is.

It’s James.

Remus’s thought process feels like a lifetime, but in reality it must be about three seconds of blank staring while his neurons reconnect. _I am in the hospital wing. James is here. James, is in the hospital wing. With me. I am a werewolf and James has a bandage on his arm._

Remus’s heart drops entirely out of his body, and the rest of his body jumps entirely out of his bed. He doesn’t know what it is, but something on his bedside table goes crashing to the floor. He’ll have to apologise for that later, probably.

“Arm,” he says, and it comes out a little croaky. “What happened to your arm.”

James looks a little alarmed.

“ _Arm_ , James.” Remus says again. He’s shaking.

“The tree,” James says. “We weren’t quick enough getting out.”

“I didn’t – ”

“No,” James says. “You didn’t. You didn’t even try.”

“And Sirius and Peter are – ”

“Presumably in bed. They’re fine. I’m the only one who lost a fight with an uppity sapling. Are you – here, hey. Sit.”

Remus sits, less because James is telling him to and more because his legs aren’t prepared to support him anymore now the adrenaline is wearing off.

“You look… grey.” James says. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen him on the day after, but it’s the first time they’ve seen him right after. James is looking at him with such concern he can’t stand it.

“I feel grey,” Remus says. “Can I… do you have any water?”

“Yeah,” James says, smiling weakly and gesturing to his arm. “Can’t pour it for you though. Not until that awful concoction Pomfrey fed me kicks in.”

“It’s fine,” Remus says, and just kind of sticks his head into the jug on James’s bedside.

When he emerges James is staring at him in what might be awe and might be horror. He doesn’t care. He feels like he could climb a mountain. A small one, but a mountain regardless.

“Better?” James says.

“Yeah,” Remus nods, sitting back down. “What did you say happened to your arm?”

“The tree,” James says. “We were trying to beat the sunrise back to bed and mistimed. Broken in four places. Copped a branch to the stomach and it sent me flying into a wall. I think Peter has a cut on his cheek, he got whipped by a twig. Sirius, of course, is completely scratch-free.”

“Figures,” Remus says, and it’s not until now that he notices how badly he’s been shaking. Relief, or something like it. “Was it – ”

“I’m not going to lie to you, mate, it was pretty tense at the start. I properly thought we’d made a horrible mistake for a moment there, you looked like you were about to tear our throats out. But you didn’t, you just kind of… well, you smacked Sirius in the face with your paw and then the two of you started wrestling. It was kind of like watching a really weird orgy.”

Remus feels like all the colour in his body has returned at once, straight into his face. On the one hand, he’s so relieved nothing happened that he can’t begin to articulate it. On the other hand, James Potter is describing him wrestling Sirius as an orgy and he can’t really process that thought at all. Certainly not in public, and certainly not in front of James.

“What did you tell Pomfrey? About the arm, I mean.”

James smirks. “Told her I mistimed a staircase change on my way back from the bathroom. You know she thinks those things are death traps. Didn’t even question it, stuck me in here next to you and fed me that godawful Skele-grow stuff. Should be up and at it in time for lunch.”

Remus nods. He’s so tired.

“James, I don’t – ”

“I know,” James says. “But you’re our friend. Our Moony. We’re not letting you go it alone.”

Remus smiles. He thinks he might cry, honestly. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve these people he has around him, and until he came to Hogwarts he wasn’t sure he would ever feel like this, and –

“Wait. Wait, your _what_?”

James laughs, then winces. “Moony. Sirius thought that seeing as we’ve all got furry little secrets now that we needed code names. I fully blame you for this, you gave him those Muggle spy novels and he’s been reading them incessantly. He’s started calling me Potter James Potter.”

“Oh, gods,” Remus says. “ _Moony_.”

“Yup,” James nods. “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Marauders Extraordinaire.”

Remus closes his eyes. “This Moony business better be over when I wake up.”

//

_March, 1993_

The world is starting to defrost, and Remus is glad to have the sun back. He’d forgotten how dreary the castle could feel when the days get short and dark. Since Halloween there’s been an unshakeable air of fear over the castle, and Remus feels like it’s starting to lift a little.

He finds it hard to spend so much time with Harry. Looking at him is like being tumbled through a time-turner. There is so much James in his face, and in his heart. Remus is quietly proud of how much like his parents the boy is, despite everything. He knows, of course, that he was luckier than most. His parents did everything they could amidst the most extreme circumstances that could be thrust onto a toddler. He knows too that you don’t have to be a product of your upbringing. Hatred doesn’t always beget hatred.

He’d always thought Sirius was proof of that.

He’s both horrified and proud when he takes the Map from Harry. How he got his hands on it, Remus will never know, although he can’t remember what happened to it when they’d left school. He’d thought Peter had had it, maybe, although James always talked about leaving it in the castle for the next lot of troublemakers to find. If anything, he would have thought he’d find himself confiscating it from Fred and George Weasley.

He definitely didn’t think it’d still work, and for a moment he’s very impressed with their sixteen-year-old selves. Who knew it’d still be ready to insult Severus Snape all these years later? They’d been too smart for their own good, hadn’t they? Some of the time, anyway.

He locks it away in his desk.

He promises himself that he won’t think about how Sirius had gotten into the castle. He’s been very good about not looking, not checking all the secret nooks and crannies and passages they’d used to slip in and out of like ghosts for any sign of him. He doesn’t even know what he’d be looking for if he did. But now the map is burning a hole in his top desk drawer, and after a particularly long day it’s harder and harder to leave it in his office.

But he doesn’t look, still. He doesn’t know if he’d want to find.

//

_May, 1975_

Remus really, really likes Lily Evans.

Not in the same way James does, of course, but he likes how calm and understanding she is most of the time, and he likes how whip-smart she is and how she never pulls any punches with anyone. He likes how easily she fits into the dynamic of the group, and he likes how likeable she is.

He finds this extremely hard to reconcile with how much he hates watching her with James.

He can’t understand this burning, jealous feeling in his chest. He’s got no reason to be jealous, it’s not like he’s interested in either of them. But seeing them laugh and playfully tease each other makes him feel like he’s on fire.

He tries to set it aside. He’s been good, for the most part, at compartmentalising. Has to be. He tries not to think about how Sirius feels about it. He tries not to think about how much he wishes Sirius would feel that way about him.

He’s not doing a very good job.

Lily passes him sympathetic notes in Transfiguration. In his blind panic before the full moon he’d told her everything, of course. Not the werewolf bit, he figures that’d be too much to spring on a person after you’ve just told them you might be tremendously queer. It is bad enough to be that without being that _and_ a werewolf.

Sirius, for his part, is still trying to kill him. It’s spring, so naturally he’s completely abandoned the concept of clothing whenever the mercury rises to what Remus would consider to be light sweater weather. He’s taken to escaping to the library as often as he can; Sirius may follow him there to joke and tease and play with his hair (which, god, he almost choked the first time it happened) but at least he has to keep his trousers on.

He is sure everyone knows. He is sure Sirius knows, from the way he keeps draping himself all over Remus, especially in front of the fire in the common room. Even Sirius can’t pretend the nights aren’t still cold, though, and Remus puts it down to that. Warmth, or teasing, or something. It’s not unpleasant. It’s not like it could be anything else, he reasons. It’s not like anyone else feels like this about their best friend. It’s not normal, he figures.

He tries not to think about it but his chest won’t stop burning.

He thinks, too, that James is definitely on a mission to kill him. He keeps threatening to set him up with friends of Lily’s. Remus figures there’s only so many times he can use “extra potions tutoring” as an excuse to avoid these no doubt horrendously awkward double dates before James starts asking questions. It works exactly four times before James corners him in the library.

“Moony,” he says, vaulting himself up so he’s sitting directly on Remus’s homework. “Moony, you’re looking… moony. And you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not,” Remus says, looking at the tail end of his Charms parchment in despair as it sticks out form underneath James’s left hip. “You’re getting ink on your trousers.”

James looks down briefly, and curses. “Sorry about that. I’ll get off shortly. But right now you can’t avoid me without abandoning your paper and you’ve already written two feet so I doubt you’re going anywhere.”

“I’m not avoiding you, James,” Remus says.

“You are. And you’re _mooning_.”

“I’ve never mooned in my life,” Remus says. He’s not ready to have this conversation.

“Remus Moony Leonie Lupin,” James says. “You must not understand. I am the _master_ of mooning. I spend yonks pining over Evans, I know a man in trouble when I see it. You’re mooning, and you’re not telling us over whom you moon.”

“Because I’m not mooning,” Remus says, with what he hopes is finality.

“Then why do you look like you’re choking on your own tongue right now?” James quirks an eyebrow. “C’mon. I promise I’ll dedicate my every effort to making sure she’s thoroughly infatuated with you. If I can manage to woo someone as violently wonderful as Evans I can certainly help you out.”

“James,” Remus says, “for the last time, I’m _not_ mooning. I’m not avoiding you. I’m just studying.”

James is… is he pouting? Good grief, Remus thinks, he’s surrounded by actual children.

“What’s the fun in hopelessly being in love with someone if you can’t even tell your best friends about it?” James is almost whining at him and he doesn’t know how to get out of this situation anymore so he does what he’s been wanting to do since this interrogation started, and almost runs out of the door, leaving his half-finished charms work behind.

//

He doesn’t see them at dinner because he doesn’t go to dinner. He finds himself honest to god hiding in what has to be a study room on the third floor that he’d never seen before until he figures it’s safe and late enough to go back to the common room. _You coward_ , he thinks to himself, and he’s so busily stuck in a miasma of self-pity and self-hatred that he doesn’t see James padding down the stairs in pyjamas to corner him again until it’s too late.

“I talked to Lily,” he says, and Remus can’t look at him. He’s not ready to have this conversation. He’s not ready to have any conversation. He honestly wants to die.

“Moony,” James says. “I didn’t want to stop being your friend when we found out you were a werewolf. What makes you think this would be any different?”

Remus still doesn’t look up. He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know how the world – his world, his friends – can continue to be so kind and gentle, and how the fight he’s always ready for never comes.

“Although there’s no accounting for taste,” James continues, and Remus can hear the smile in his voice now. “Blimey.”

“I know,” Remus agrees, miserably, looking up to find James staring concernedly at him. His pyjamas are buttoned wrong. _Christ_ , Remus thinks, _I am so lucky to have these people in my life_. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely doomed.” James nods, and cracks a grin.


End file.
